The Neighbor Girl
by Fonique2
Summary: Sherlock Holmes may have been an arrogant know-it-all who lacked basic social skills, but he was just as willing to speak to a little girl in mourning on the day of his death, as he was as a child, in his own bizarre way. I will dearly miss Sherlock Holmes for his genius, his right hook, and his heart.
1. Chapter 1

**In Memoriam: Sherlock Holmes**

 **By: Eleanor Taylor**

 **It had been rare as of late to read a paper with no mention of Sherlock Holmes. Therefore, it should not be news to anyone that Mr. Holmes jumped to his death last week from the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. This came immediately after the acquitted criminal Moriarty was reportedly claiming to be an actor named Richard Brook whom Sherlock Holmes paid to be a master criminal. An investigation of these claims is currently underway.**

 **Though the nation speculates, this reporter does not. I have been fortunate, and admittedly exasperated, to be personally acquainted with Sherlock Holmes. And so I feel that it falls upon my shoulders to tell the world who Sherlock really was.**

 **Long before Sherlock was The Reichenbach Hero, he was a boy. This is when we met, when we were seven-years-old. My family had moved into the house next door to the Holmes family. I still remember our first meeting vividly.**

 _Eleanor was nervous. Her family had just settled into their new home just yesterday, but her mother insisted they head next door and meet their new neighbors. There were children, Ellie had been told; which was an exciting prospect considering she had left all her friends behind. The neighbor children were boys, however, and what if they were gross boys who picked their noses and ate bugs?_

 _When Eleanor's mum knocked on the front door of the neighbor's house, a lady wearing a blue dress answered. She greeted the Taylors with a genuine smile, cooed over Eleanor's pretty auburn curls, and escorted them inside._

 _"The boys are in the lounge if you would like to say hello," Mrs. Holmes smiled down at Ellie and pointed down the hall._

 _Ellie glanced uncertainly up at her mother, who nodded in encouragement. As the two women launched into a discussion, Ellie began her timid journey towards the lounge. The little girl expected to hear the sounds of the telly but even as she reached the entryway of the room, there was none. Perhaps that was because there was no television, as Ellie noticed upon examining the room. Instead, the room was lined with bookshelves and stuffed with cozy-looking armchairs and objects safely stored behind glass. It reminded Ellie much less of a lounge, and more of a study._

 _Ellie spotted the boys near a window. They sat at a small table, immersed in a game of chess. Not wanting to interrupt, Ellie made to leave, but it was then that she was noticed._

 _"Ah, you must be our new neighbor," said one of the boys. He got to his feet and his brother followed._

 _Ellie's first thought about the brothers was that they looked like royalty. They were perfectly trimmed and manicured and both were wearing suits. The boy who had addressed her was the older of the two. He was tall enough that Ellie guessed he was a teenager. He stood straight, with his hands clasped behind his back. As he looked at her, he seemed to be looking down at her in such a way that Ellie felt very silly and small. She quickly turned her attention to the younger brother._

 _The second brother appeared to be her own age. He was much taller than her and very skinny. His curly hair was black and his very blue eyes were scanning her, like he was looking for something. While this made Ellie uncomfortable, it was not the feeling the older brother had given her._

 _"I am Mycroft Holmes," said the older brother. "And this is Sherlock."_

 _"I'm Eleanor Taylor, but you can call me Ellie if you'd like," Ellie said timidly, shifting her feet with anxiety._

 _Mycroft nodded his head in acknowledgement, then returned to his seat. Feeling slightly put out, Ellie moved her eyes to Sherlock. His attention remained on her for a moment more before he too nodded and returned to his game._

 **I did not see much of the Holmes boys after our initial meeting. Mycroft waved politely, if not lazily, at me should our families cross paths. Sherlock would acknowledge my existence with a slight nod of his head. But I went to public school and Sherlock did not. Sherlock's house was home to books and chess sets and I was not a stranger to after school cartoons.**

 **It was not until six months after I had moved in that Sherlock and I interacted again. A late August afternoon found me hunched beneath the oak tree in my back yard, head buried in my arms.**

 _She did not hear him approach through her sobs. Who knows how long the boy stood next to her before he spoke._

 _"Are you crying because your cat died?"_

 _Startled, Ellie peered up with tear-filled eyes. Sherlock peered down at her, hands in the pockets of his slacks, looking bored. At the thought of Buttons, new tears sprang to life._

 _Sherlock's face scrunched together in discomfort, ready to retreat. But Ellie quickly wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. While her eyes still watered, she peered up at her neighbor with curiosity._

 _"How did you know Buttons died?" Ellie asked shakily, having to gulp down a fresh wave of tears._

 _"It was obvious," Sherlock shrugged, hands still tucked in his pockets. "There's fur on the legs of your pants, suggesting that you do have a cat who sheds moderately when they brush up against you. But your sleeves are covered in fur, suggesting that you've been holding the cat recently. Since you're crying, you're obviously upset. I heard a car break hard earlier so I can assume that your cat was hit by a car and you cradled it before you came here."_

 _The words were insensitive and Sherlock's tone suggested he cared extraordinarily little that a little girl had just lost her beloved pet. Yet, Ellie did not cry further. Instead, her cheeks began to dry as she stared up at Sherlock Holmes in wonder._

 _"That's amazing…!" she whispered._

 _Sherlock blinked, seeming taken aback. Although Ellie could not know at the time, Sherlocks astounding talents were not frequently commented upon at his house. Mycroft particularly was quick to point out that his deductions were rather elementary and that he was far superior to Sherlock in every way._

 _But Ellie was smitten with Sherlock's talent and she was already on her feet, caramel-colored eyes looking pleadingly up at Sherlock. "Can you teach me!?"_

 **Sherlock did not teach me. I notice more than the average person, I'd say, but Sherlock could only show me so much. One needs a certain level of genius to do what Sherlock did. Despite this, Sherlock had gained an adoring fan in me and we became inseparable. If this bothered Sherlock, he never said. Truthfully, I imagine he enjoyed having someone be in ore of him at all times.**

 **Still, Sherlock and I were very different. As we aged, we still retained our unique friendship, but we spent much less time together. I was busy with other friends, hobbies and after school activities. This did not stop Sherlock from being there when I needed him, however, whether I knew that I needed him or not.**

 _A sixteen-year-old Ellie dashed from her house as a blue jeep pulled into her driveway. Her excitement at seeing Jack was so great, she did not notice her neighbor skulking about behind the fence that separated their yards. Jack killed the engine and barely had time to close the door before Ellie jumped into his arms, planting a wet kiss on his cheek._

 _"I missed you!" Ellie gushed, peering up at her boyfriend of eight months._

 _Jack chuckled, placing a kiss on Ellie's forehead before she stepped back. "I missed you too. It was a long holiday without you."_

 _"Well, I have a surprise for you," Ellie smiled impishly, taking Jack by the hand and gently tugging him towards her house._

 _"Good afternoon!" a voice suddenly called, stopping the young couple short._

 _Ellie glanced over to see Sherlock strolling through the gate of the fence and over towards Jack and Ellie._

 _"Sherlock!" Ellie hissed, narrowing her eyes in a warning that clearly said: clear off._

 _But Sherlock did not listen, as he rarely ever did. His focus was on Jack, and while his face was even and straight, his eyes were narrowed._

 _"Ah, Jack, I don't believe we've ever truly spoken face to face," Sherlock addressed Jack, but did not offer a hand to shake. "How was your holiday?"_

 _Jack glanced questioningly at Ellie. "Did you tell him I was on holiday?"_

 _Ellie shook her head and immediately rolled her eyes, as Sherlock would take this opportunity to show off and tell Jack all of the subtle clues he could deduce that proved Jack had been on holiday. But much to Ellie's surprise, Sherlock did not, perhaps for the very first time in history._

 _"Did you tell the girl you had relations with that you were in a committed relationship?"_

 _Stunned silence met Sherlock's words. Jack stared at Sherlock with a mix of fear and fury. Ellie's attention was now on Jack, her face slowly crumbling, eyes pleading for Sherlock to be wrong._

 _"Jack?" she croaked._

 _"I-I-um…" Jack stuttered, which was the only proof that Ellie required._

 _Ellie did not wail or sob, although tears were already starting to form in her eyes. But even if Ellie had made a sound, it would have been drowned out by the rather unpleasant crunching sound of Jack's nose breaking._

 _Jack hollered out in pain, cupping his nose with his hands as it began to bleed profusely. Sherlock stepped back, shaking his right hand out and wincing in pain. He was not really in the habit of punching people in the face._

 _The next ten minutes were a blur for Ellie, so consumed was she in her heartbreak. But she soon found herself in her kitchen, wringing out a wash cloth over the sink. Sherlock sat at her dining room table, examining the cuts and bruises already appearing on his knuckles. Silently, Ellie approached him, wiping away the blood on his hand._

 _All was quiet as Ellie set to work with bandages, but it was finally broken by Sherlock. "I'm sensing that you're upset."_

 _Sherlock's sentence was met with a roll of bandages being thrown at his head. "Of course I'm upset, Sherlock! Why do you_ _ **always**_ _do stuff like that!?"_

 _And before Sherlock could say anything in response, Ellie was collapsing in the chair beside his in sobs. Sherlock sat awkwardly, frowning._

 _"Didn't you want to know?" he finally asked after several excruciatingly long minutes of listening to Ellie cry._

 _"I don't know…" Ellie groaned, her sobs easing into hiccups and silent tears._

 _Sherlock frowned at this. That didn't make any sense. Why wouldn't someone want to know their partner was cheating on them? One wouldn't want to keep seeing someone if that was the case, right? But Ellie certainly wasn't acting like that was true. Perhaps Sherlock was wrong. He was, admittedly, a train wreck with human relationships._

 _Sherlock, for once, was at a loss for what to say. Even he could clearly feel the grief radiating off of Ellie. It was uncomfortable and not something Sherlock was accustomed to dealing with. He did not know how to make it stop and he did not know how to help._

 _After what seemed like ages, Ellie seemed to gain control of herself. She determinedly wiped the tears from her eyes and pushed wet curls away from her face. She glanced down at Sherlock's hand, and then to Sherlock's face, where she suddenly burst out laughing._

 _"That was a really nice punch," she laughed, choking back a sob, but still smiling nonetheless._

 _Sherlock said nothing, as he was still adjusting to Ellie's swing in emotions. But that was okay. Ellie had spent a countless amount of time in silence around Sherlock when they were younger and she was comfortable with his silence._

 _Ellie got to her feet, bent slightly at the waist in front of Sherlock, and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Thank you, Sherlock."_

 **Sherlock became a very successful chemist, and I a journalist. Our paths took us far from one another, but never for very long. Through the years, we were still somehow just as inseparable as we were as children. And I still remained just as captivated with him as I once was with every case that he solved.**

 **Sherlock Holmes has helped a great deal of people. And so I plead with the world, do not turn your back on my friend. For I have no doubt in my mind that Sherlock is innocent of all the claims being made about him. Sherlock Holmes may have been an arrogant know-it-all who lacked basic social skills, but he was just as willing to speak to a little girl in mourning on the day of his death, as he was as a child, in his own bizarre way. I will dearly miss Sherlock Holmes for his genius, his right hook, and his heart.**

* * *

"I saw your article in the paper," John said.

John Watson and Eleanor Taylor stood side by side, their backs against the wind as they stared down at a black headstone. The pair has said nothing to one another throughout the funeral and it was almost startling to hear a voice break the silence.

"It didn't do him justice," Ellie said quietly.

"No, I think it was perfect," John replied before the pair lapsed into silence again.

"Do you…do you think there's still a chance he's not actually dead?" John finally asked quietly.

Ellie turned her head to look at the doctor. Her eyes were shimmering with tears, yet, there was a shaky smile on her face. "Oh yes, John, I do. See, he still has to kill me for publishing an article about his soft side."

John chuckled weakly. "Ah, so we'll see him very soon then."

Ellie's eyes turned back to the gravestone just in time to see a vague reflection in its polished surface. Maybe it was her grief playing tricks on her, but that would just be too coincidental for Sherlock Holmes. Ellie closed her eyes and smiled. "Yes, very soon."

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Thank you for reading! This idea has been floating around in my head for a little while and I just really wanted to get it out. I was considering making this into a series. It'd be pretty much a fluff fic, with every chapter focusing on a different event in their lives. I just have a few ideas for I guess drabble-like chapters for this pair. If that might be something you're interested in, please let me know your thoughts!**

 **Much love.**


	2. Spin me Around, Sherlock

**The Neighbor Girl**

Part Two: Spin me Around, Sherlock

A rainy afternoon found nine-year-old Eleanor Taylor in the Holmes' lounge. Sherlock Holmes was stationed by the window, playing chess against an imaginary opponent. He had been teaching Ellie how to play, but had deemed her a lost cause after she had lost her third game. He dismissed her from the chess board, which Ellie wasn't very upset over. Instead, she focused on the classical music playing from the record player in the corner.

Sherlock probably knew the artist that was playing, but Ellie did not. Still, she found the music soothing. She'd gotten used to hearing classical music over the last two years, whether it was from a record or from Sherlock's violin. Ellie was perfectly content to sway to the music while Sherlock played his chess.

And so she swayed and side-stepped to the music, lost in her own thoughts for some time before she glanced up and noticed with a jolt that Sherlock was watching her. Ellie immediately stopped, self conscious.

"You're not dancing correctly," Sherlock said.

Ellie was quite accustomed to Sherlock telling her she was doing everything wrong. And he was not always very polite about it either. Sometimes the comments bothered her, other times they didn't. This particular comment didn't offend her, but she did roll her eyes.

"There's no wrong way to dance," Ellie scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yes there is."

"How would _you_ know?"

At this, Sherlock glanced stubbornly away. Was it a trick of the lighting, or was Sherlock Holmes blushing? Quietly, as though almost embarrassed, Sherlock answered. "I know how to dance."

"You do?" Ellie asked. Well that was interesting; although, why should she be surprised? Sherlock knew how to do a lot of things she did not. No matter, this was great news to Ellie. "Can you spin me around!?"

Sherlock glanced up to Ellie, his eyes searching her. Perhaps he was surprised by her reaction? He got to his feet, walking over to his neighbor. "You mean 'twirl'. Spinning is-"

"Spin me around, Sherlock!" Ellie interrupted, her honey-colored eyes a lit. She grabbed Sherlock's hand and twirled herself around.

Sherlock almost smiled. He'd never admit it, never **ever** , but he was almost fond of Eleanor Taylor. Having a constant companion was new to him at first, but he quickly grew comfortable with Ellie's presence. She was simple, but it did not aghast him as others of average intelligence did. Perhaps because, unlike many others, Ellie was not intimidated by Sherlock's intelligence. She did not often grow angry over his need to point out her mistakes. Instead, she was in ore of his talents.

It was certainly a nice break from having Mycroft be one's source of interaction. His criticisms were maddening and Sherlock had spent many of his years thinking he was stupid. Even when he made a mistake, Ellie didn't comment or even notice. She did not criticize or judge and Sherlock felt _safe_ with her. She made him feel that he was special and that she adored him for it.

And so Sherlock spun and twirled and under arm turned Ellie until the rain stopped.

* * *

 **Eight Years Later**

Sitting in front of the mirror, Ellie frowned at her reflection. Despite her attempt to tame her auburn curls, her hair looked exceptionally unruly for a night such as this. She typically wore a bow in her hair for this reason, but she had been hoping to forgo said ritual this evening. She had wanted to look different from her usual for the end of the year formal.

"Just wear the bow," Sherlock's drawl came from behind her.

Ellie's eyes narrowed at Sherlock's reflection. He was lounging on her bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Supposedly. He must have been watching her if 0he noticed her dilemma with her hair.

"But I _always_ wear a bow."

"Exactly. You don't look right without it."

A regular person would have taken offense at Sherlock's words, but Ellie smiled. She had known Sherlock for most of her life and long enough to know that was the closest he usually came to a compliment. She took the periwinkle bow and tied it in her hair. At least she had the proper color to match her dress.

"Why are you going to this?" Sherlock asked, not for the first time.

Ellie rolled her eyes, playing with her bangs and some hairspray. "Because, Sherlock, this is what us normal people do."

"Are you going with Henry?"

Ellie could have laughed at the way Sherlock slurred his name.

"Yes, Sherlock," she replied. "And I don't want you here when he picks me up. I've had enough of you ruining my dates."

"Well maybe if you picked decent matches..." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"I heard that," Ellie said, applying her eye-shadow. "And you don't think anyone is decent. Everyone has their flaws, Sherlock, and they don't want them broadcasted by some skinny, weird bloke that they don't know."

Sherlock opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but was cut short by the sound of the doorbell. Ellie's eyes lit up and she jumped to her feet.

"He's here!" she squealed in excitement before rounding on Sherlock. "You get out of here before you ruin my chances with the most buff guy on this side of town."

Sherlock looked affronted but did as told. He got to his feet and Ellie rushed him downstairs, making sure she pushed him out the back door before meeting her date at the front door.

* * *

Five hours later found Ellie storming down her street, wiping angry tears from her eyes. A car followed slowly beside her, its window rolled down.

"El, come on! Get in the car!" begged the driver.

"Don't call me that!" Ellie snapped. "Just go away!"

"El, come on, you're overreacting!"

Ellie came to a stop, glaring daggers at her date through his open window. "You're a pig, Henry Ellis! Leave me alone!"

"El..."

"I didn't know you let people call you 'El'," came a voice from Ellie's elbow.

Ellie didn't need to turn around to know who had come, for she knew that voice anywhere. Not to mention, she had stopped in front of a particular house on purpose.

"There's an awful lot of screaming happening for a date with a decent guy," Sherlock said wistfully.

Ellie did not comment, but grabbed Sherlock by the wrist, pulling him with her towards his house. And it was good timing too, as fat rain drops began to fall from the sky. Ellie only glanced over he shoulder long enough to say one last thing to Henry Ellis: " **Don't** call me!"

Ellie stormed into Sherlock's house, slamming the door behind her. His parents were at a gala and Mycroft had long since moved away from home. Ellie kicked off her flats and stomped into the lounge where she flung herself down on the couch.

Sherlock followed through all of this, but said nothing. He was not fond of Ellie's break ups, which seemed to be a frequent occurrence, even when he did not interfere. According to Ellie, all men were stupid, boring, or knew how to press all of the wrong buttons. Sherlock had to agree, for he found most people to be stupid and boring.

But this left Sherlock wishing she would swear off of dating. He never understood the need for a romantic relationship anyway. For Ellie, they just seemed to leave her frustrated and in tears. And what was Sherlock to do about that? She always came to him; not for comfort, but simply because they were Sherlock and Ellie. But then he had to see her cry, and he didn't enjoy watching that. And he certainly didn't know how to make it stop. Not consciously anyway.

But here they were again. Ellie sat on Sherlock's couch, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her leg bouncing furiously and her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Sherlock stood awkwardly by. He didn't need to ask what had happened. Indeed, he presumed that even the dumbest of souls could deduce what had transpired in the short hours that Ellie had been gone. Sherlock probably should have asked if she was hurt, but a quick scan of her revealed that she wasn't. Besides, he had been at the receiving end of enough of her rights hooks to know she wouldn't have gotten hurt easily.

Sherlock had no desire to play counselor to Ellie tonight. In fact, he had been rather busy with some research in his room before he heard the shouting coming from outside. But even though Ellie was different, he knew better than to just walk away from her now. But he knew how her date went, and he knew she wasn't hurt, so what else could he say to her to fulfill his obligation?

"How was the dance?" he asked.

Ellie shot him a glare. "Henry didn't want to do much dancing..."

Ah, Sherlock should have suspected an answer like that. Well, he'd probably comforted her well enough. Sherlock made to leave when a sob suddenly escaped Ellie's lips, rooting Sherlock where he stood. It was a heart-wrenching sob that even Sherlock recognized as a deeper pain than Henry Ellis could cause.

"What's wrong with me, Sherlock?" she asked, glancing up at him pleadingly, as though asking him to find her flaws. "Why do I always seem to end up alone at the end of the night?"

"You don't; you always come here," Sherlock corrected her.

"That's not what I mean Sherlock..." she sighed, wiping fresh tears from her eyes. "Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm too picky. Maybe I am just a prude. Maybe I need to change..."

Sherlock watched Ellie's face fall into defeat as she questioned who she should be. Sherlock didn't understand it. So much doubt and despair over men who didn't matter? Sherlock was very selective of who he spent his time with and he had chosen Ellie. And if she was good enough for him, she was certainly good enough for everyone else.

So Sherlock simply said, "I like you."

Ellie glanced up and gave Sherlock a very shaky, watery smile. She wiped away a tear and got to her feet. There were a lot of things she could say, wanted to say, but Sherlock wouldn't understand. Not _truly_ understand. How could he truly understand that she couldn't date these average boys because they were so _boring_ in comparison? How could she listen to a man talk incessantly about his car when Sherlock could tell her ten facts about everyone in the room? How could she tell Sherlock the battle that raged within her? How could she tell him about the feelings that she did not always quite understand herself?

But the best thing about Ellie was that she was simple and she said none of what was on her mind. Instead, she grabbed her oldest and dearest friend by the hand. "Spin me around, Sherlock."

And he did until the rain stopped.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 **So I've decided to take the drabble route, where each post will just be another 'part' to Ellie and Sherlock's story. I have at least two other ideas floating around in my head at the moment. Of course, I would love your opinions on this so far about what you like and don't like. And especially if I'm portraying Sherlock well enough. He's a challenging character to write and I want to make sure I'm doing him justice.**

 **Also, as I am American, I find myself struggling with British terminology. I'm trying to use the proper slang and terms to make the story seem more fluid. Of course I watch Sherlock and I've got some knowledge from British novels, such as Harry Potter, but everything else I've been looking up. And for instance, I don't really know the etiquette for dances in England and my research only took me so far. SO, if I have any British readers who was willing to collaborate with me on phrasing, I'd be ever so grateful. I'm always looking to produce the best work I can for you guys.**

 **Hoping to hear from you! Much love.**


	3. When Ellie met John

**The Neighbor Girl**

Part Three: When Ellie met John

Doctor John Watson pushed open the door to 221B Baker Street and hopped inside, narrowly escaping the fat rain drops that had just begun to fall. When he shut the door behind him, the entryway darkened and John wondered if Mrs. Hudson was out for the evening, or if she'd simply forgotten to turn on the lamps. It must be the latter, he decided, for as John began to climb the stairs up to his flat, he could hear a conversation. The low rumble of Sherlock's voice was unmistakable but the other voice was too soft to make out. Probably tittering about the state of the apartment.

John briefly considered postponing his homecoming to avoid this familiar lecture, but the rain deterred him. Instead, he braced himself for the inevitable and entered the space he shared with Sherlock Holmes. But as John closed the door and peered around, he was not greeted with the sight of his land lady shaking her head at the mess Sherlock had made just the day before. In fact, Mrs. Hudson was not present at all. Instead, John was met with the most peculiar of visions.

Sherlock was seated in the middle of the couch on the far side of the room. A woman occupied the seat to his right. Her back rested against the armrest and her legs were draped across Sherlock's lap. A manila folder was open on her lap. Both Sherlock's head and the woman's were bent, seemingly looking down at the information inside.

John wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't sure what to _think_. Who was this woman? And why on earth was she draped across Sherlock Holmes so intimately?

John had only seen Sherlock in an intimate situation once in their time of knowing each other. This, of course, was the time The Woman insisted on speaking with Sherlock completely naked. And while Sherlock's poker face was spot on, John had been sure there had been something akin to awkwardness in Sherlock during that encounter. Or perhaps John's own discomfort had clouded his reading of Sherlock.

In any case, this particular scene was very different. While the closeness of the pair seemed affectionate, it was not sexual in nature. Sherlock seemed completely at ease, more so he didn't even seem to notice how the woman's fingers were casually running through his dark curls as they concentrated on the contents of the manila folder.

So who was this woman that Sherlock allowed to play with his hair and rest her body against his?

John was certain he'd never seen this woman before. She was thin with long legs. Her hair was a mass of auburn curls. A big, black bow sat atop her head keeping curls away from her face. It matched the black baby doll blouse she wore over white leggings. John could not yet see the color of her eyes, but he could see the heart-shape of her face and the smattering of freckles across her nose.

Just as John was deciding to say nothing and retreat, the woman glanced up, catching John's eye and rooting him to the floor. Her eyes ranked over him once before she untangled herself from Sherlock and got to her feet with surprising grace.

"You must be Doctor Watson," said the woman in a modulate tone. She approached John, her right hand outstretched.

John took the woman's hand and shook it with a quick glance to Sherlock. He wasn't paying any attention to their interaction. John looked back to the woman.

"Erm, yes...I'm sorry, and you are?" John ask with a slight inclination of his head.

"Eleanor Taylor," said the woman smoothly, as though she'd practiced her name a million times.

"Oh...and how do you know Sherlock?" John tried again. Was she really unaware how odd it was to find a woman entwined with Sherlock Holmes?

"Sherlock hasn't told you about me?" Eleanor asked. Her tone was light and there was an odd, little smirk on her face, but the hurt that flashed in her eyes for the briefest of moments was unmistakable. She glanced back at Sherlock, who was still not paying them any mind, before glancing back to him. "I'm his neighbor."

John's face screwed up for a second, thinking that didn't sound quite right.

"Sorry," Eleanor rolled her eyes, seemingly at herself. "Old habits die hard. I _was_ his neighbor; we grew up together."

"Oh..." John blinked. So childhood friends. Sherlock had never mentioned having a close childhood friend. John was unaware that Sherlock had any friends, aside from John himself. "No, Sherlock never mentioned..."

"He rarely does," Eleanor sighed, crossing her arms and glaring lightly over her shoulder at Sherlock. "You'd think a few decades would be worth a passing mention but I never seem to make the cut."

"Ah!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed. He jumped to his feet, the manila folder falling from his lap and onto the floor, and dashed passed Eleanor and John, bounding down the stairs and out the door, not even pausing to grab an umbrella.

"I sure hope that's about my case," Eleanor mumbled, completely unfazed. John supposed she had to be if she'd been witnessing such scenes for years. Eleanor walked back to the couch and picked up the file from the floor.

After placing the folder back on the couch, Eleanor began to wander the apartment. She'd stop here and there, peer in a box or flip quickly through a book. Despite her placid attitude as she did so, it seemed clear to John that she was looking for something.

"Do you have a case for Sherlock, Eleanor?" John asked.

"Please, Ellie will do. And no, not exactly," Eleanor replied, not peering up from a stack of Sherlock's notes that she was quickly thumbing through. "I'm a journalist for The Telegraph. Sometimes I enlist Sherlock's help with an article."

Recognition lit up John's face. "Oh yes, I've read your work!"

"And I've read yours," Ellie finally glanced up, smiling in John's direction with a twinkle in her eye. "I quite enjoyed 'The Elephant in the Room'."

John chuckled, thinking of his blog. It seemed endearing to him that Ellie kept up to date on Sherlock's cases. "You've never covered Sherlock in any of your articles, have you?"

"No," Ellie said, returning to her task. "Conflict of interest and all that."

Ellie then paused at Sherlock's desk, peering down at a glass tank filled with an orange liquid and a skull. It had been part of an experiment Sherlock had been conducting yesterday. Her back was facing John when she spoke again.

"John, I ask you not to repeat to Sherlock what I am about to ask you."

John stayed silent. The last time John had met someone acquainted to Sherlock and had been told to keep their meeting a secret, it was his brother, Mycroft. Of course, John had not kept that a secret from Sherlock. It was his right to know that his brother was keeping close watch on him.

Ellie turned to face John and the superior, smug look permanently attached to Mycroft's face was not present on hers. While her face was expressionless, her eyes were a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, uncertainty, hope, empathy. It was a curious sight to see her face so calm while holding back so many emotions. This line of defense likely came from growing up with Sherlock. He'd always be able to read her every move if she was an open book. But her eyes...it was unlikely that Sherlock spared the effort to really look that deeply into them.

"Has Sherlock been using?" Ellie asked.

Oh. Yes, of course. She'd been examining the room for hidden drugs. And she seemed to be awaiting his answer with baited breath.

"Not that I've ever noticed," John replied. He knew that Sherlock had a history of drug abuse and it was possible that he used when John was away, but John had never witnessed anything.

Ellie's shoulders visibly sagged with relief. She then turned back to Sherlock's experiment. No longer worried over her friend's welfare, she now moved keen eyes over the set up in interest.

It was quiet for a moment before John risked a question. "When did Sherlock begin using?"

Because Ellie's back was once again to John, he could not see her face, but her tone was quiet and she seemed to be in another place; another time.

"I don't how long he'd been using before I caught him. But when I did, we were fifteen..."

 _Ellie raced over to the Holmes residence the moment school let out. She was driven with purpose and desire and the time was ripe for mischief. Her parents were away at a charity gala and Sherlock's parents were away for the week in France. Or was it Spain this time?_

 _Susan Thompson had just resigned as chief editor for the school paper and the position was wide open for Eleanor Taylor. But they weren't going to just_ _ **give**_ _her the position. Oh no, it looked too good on a university application for her peers to pass up the opportunity._

 _No, she was going to have to do something major to secure her place as editor. Fortunately, Ellie was a natural and had already secured a plethora of informants and was part of all the right gossips circles. And through these Ellie had learned of quite the scandal involving the headmaster. Before she could put this in print, however, she needed proof. Incidentally, that proof was securely locked in the headmaster's office. Which, of course, wasn't a problem when you were friends with Sherlock Holmes._

 _And so Ellie raced up the porch stairs to the door and let herself inside. After all these years, Ellie rarely knocked. Besides, only Sherlock was home anyway._

 _The entryway was dark, as the shades were closed over all of the windows. But as it was late afternoon, it was still bright enough to see and Ellie skipped her way to the staircase and took them two at a time until she reached the landing. One, two, three doors to the right and she was at Sherlock's room._

 _The door was slightly ajar and Ellie let herself in. "Hey Sherlock, I need your help-"_

 _She stopped short. Sherlock sat on his bed, but his right side was slumped up against his pillow. His head was slumped forward, towards his chest._

" _Sherlock?" Ellie called, wondering why Sherlock had fallen asleep in such a strange position. But he didn't answer; which was odd considering that Sherlock was a very light sleeper. Ellie stepped further into the room, calling louder. "Sherlock?"_

 _But again, Sherlock did not answer. Ellie rushed over, panic spreading through her. What if something was terribly wrong? What if Sherlock had fallen very ill? Or one of his experiments got out of hand? Should she run downstairs and call an ambulance?_

 _But then Ellie was close enough to Sherlock to see what lay beside him. It took her only a moment to piece together what had happened to her friend. It was glaringly obvious but it took Ellie's brain a moment to swallow the horror of it._

 _Atop the bed sat a book and upon it sat a small baggie half filled with a white, powdery substance. What looked like a pen with the end removed so the inside was hallow, sat beside the outline of a thick line._

 _Ellie was frozen. What was she to do? Was Sherlock alive? Had he overdosed, or was he just in a stupor? Did she wait to find out? What should she do when he came to? How long did she wait to see if he came to?_

 _Ellie stood there above her friend for minutes with questions swimming in her head. She was scared and uncertain. Should she call his parents? Or Mycroft? Or the hospital?_

 _There seemed to be no right answer. Torn with indecision, Ellie let herself go numb. She wandered to the desk chair in the corner of the room, turned it to face Sherlock, and sat._

 _Ellie sat and waited, and waited, and waited. She did not glance at the clock. Her gaze never let Sherlock's prone form. It grew dark outside and only when it became so dark that Ellie could no longer make out of the movement of Sherlock's chest did she turn on the desk lamp beside her._

 _When Sherlock finally stirred, it was very late. Ellie's thoughts of the school paper had long since vanished. In fact, she was unsure what she'd been thinking over the hours that she kept her vigil. Nothing it seemed._

 _Sherlock blinked slowly and struggled to lift his head, as though it weighed a ton. Ellie watched as he orientated himself. It took a good five minutes for Sherlock to realize that Ellie was in the room and when he noticed her, he said nothing but merely stared at her groggily. His pupils were small, despite the relative darkness of the room and there was sweat forming at his hairline._

 _The pair sat in silence for a long time. Sherlock continued to struggle to become alert and Ellie just watched. Finally, Sherlock gained enough control of himself that he sat up straight and glanced to his left where the evidence of his drug use lay. He moved to take care of it, but Ellie was faster. In a flash surprisingly quick for someone who sat unmoving for hours, Ellie was at Sherlock's bedside and swiped the small baggie of powder before he could grab it. Sherlock stared up at Ellie, frowning, but Ellie was glaring._

 _The last several hours hit the red-head all at once. All the fear and worry and anger bubbled to the surface and Ellie unleashed it all._

" _What the hell, Sherlock!? What is this!?" she screeched, furiously shaking the small baggie in the air._

 _Sherlock said nothing and continued to stare listlessly at the girl in front of him. This of course, only infuriated Ellie further._

" _How could you do this!? Why!? What's_ _ **so**_ _bad in your life, Sherlock!?"_

 _Sherlock, again, did not answer. How could Ellie understand? She was too naive, too lively, too..._ _ **normal.**_

 _It was clear that Sherlock wasn't going to answer any of her questions. No matter. Ellie could tell her anger was about to dissolve into tears and she'd be damned if she let Sherlock do that to her. Ellie clenched the baggie of drugs in her fist, planning to dispose of it._

" _If I ever catch you doing this again, I'll tell your parents!" Ellie threatened._

 _Tears beginning to push against her eyes, Ellie spun on her heel and fled._

"I never did tell them, though," Ellie admitted. "Sometimes I'd have to call Mycroft and we'd take care of Sherlock, but I never told his parents. Usually, I just stayed with him until he sobered."

"Why didn't you say anything?" John asked, awed by the tale he had just heard.

Ellie sighed and turned to face John. Her face was anguished. "A lot of reasons I guess. I feared if I pushed him to get help, he'd resent me and continue anyway. And if I was gone, then there'd be no one to look after him. Part of me wasn't sure I had the right to stop Sherlock. I'm frankly just too normal to understand how such an exceptional mind like Sherlock fairs in such an unexceptional world. Also..."

John raised an eyebrow when Ellie didn't continue. "Also...?"

Ellie glanced down. "It's selfish...but I guess...if we kept the secret close to us, it became part of who we were rather than a serious problem. I know it sounds...stupid, horrible, but...well if it wasn't a problem...then Sherlock remained perfect."

Perfect.

Well, that was never a word John had ever heard used to describe Sherlock Holmes. And surely Ellie could see all his faults. Perhaps more clearly than others because of their history together.

But then Ellie glanced up to John, her eyes pleading with him to understand, and suddenly he did. Of course Sherlock wasn't perfect. Of course he had his flaws. But to Eleanor Taylor, all of those flaws made him perfect. Because Sherlock was something special to the curly-haired woman. Something very special...

Before John could muse further or respond, the door burst open and Sherlock entered, his curly hair dripping water onto his shoulders. His jacket was equally wet. But Sherlock didn't seem to notice. He was murmuring to himself as he strode back over to the couch and, despite his wet clothes, sank down onto the cushions. He grabbed the manila folder he'd been pouring over when John arrived, stuck his nose in it, and was lost to John and Ellie.

Ellie and John exchanged a glance. While John found this behavior of Sherlock's a little exasperating, Ellie was holding back a grin of amusement. She loudly cleared her throat and addressed the consulting detective.

"Sherlock, I have a tip to follow up on. I'll return tomorrow for your conclusion."

It was hard to gauge whether Sherlock had heard because he showed no sign of acknowledgment that he had. Ellie didn't wait around for a sign. She turned to John and offered her hand, which he took.

"Well, John, it was nice to meet you. I hope our paths across again soon."

John smiled and nodded in agreement. Ellie gathered her handbag and umbrella, bid Sherlock farewell (which he ignored) and left. John watched the door Ellie had closed behind her for a long moment before glancing to Sherlock. Was he aware of the complicated dynamics of his and Ellie's relationship?

"Is Ellie seeing someone?" John asked aloud.

"Of course she is, she just said she was going to meet an informant," Sherlock replied without looking up, proving that he was paying attention and naive to basic human communication.

John rolled his eyes. "No, Sherlock. Is she seeing someone romantically? You know, is she dating anyone?"

Sherlock looked sharply at John then and for the first time that day (hell, maybe for the first time that week), John truly felt that he had Sherlock's undivided attention.

"I assure you, Ellie does not wish to be your latest _flavor of the month,"_ Sherlock Holmes glared coldly.

"That's not-" John huffed, but stalled. That was not his intention. "I mean, does she date at all? Does she have a significant other?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Of course not, don't be ridiculous."

John didn't think that notion was ridiculous at all. Why wouldn't Eleanor desire to find that special one, as many people did? Certainly there were men out there who fancied her. She was intelligent, accomplished and attractive.

Ah, but John was only trying to prove his own theory. That Eleanor did desire a special someone, but it was the one person she could not have.

He didn't understand it, not truly. First and foremost, how could anyone deeply love Sherlock Holmes? He was impossible to get along with, impossible to please and, frequently, even impossible to communicate with. Sure there was Molly Hooper who had pined after Sherlock for quite some time, but it was merely an infatuation.

What Eleanor seemed to harbor was something else entirely. It seemed to him, just in their short interaction, that Ellie viewed Sherlock simply as part of her world. There was no Eleanor Taylor without Sherlock Holmes. And that kind of love, John reasoned, was something else entirely. And it was certainly the kind of love that would prevent Ellie from finding a mate even when she (John was rather sure) knew that Sherlock was incapable of such a brand of love.

It was sad, really. A tragedy right out of a Shakespeare play. And Sherlock was blind to it all, at least, John would stake his life on that guess. Sherlock's response to John's misinterpreted question was at least a little reassuring. That at least Sherlock harbored something of his own for Eleanor Taylor. And who knew what that was. Perhaps it was love, but an unexplained love. Something that just was, rather than something that could be written out in the pages of a romance novel.

In a twisted way, it made sense to John. Although, he was sure if he said any of this out loud it would sound absolutely ludicrous. Not that he would. Sherlock and Ellie seemed just right the way they were, as bizarre as it seemed to others.

But John liked bizarre. If he didn't, he wouldn't be living with a roommate who left freshly defleshed skulls laying around. And so John hoped, as he left a suspicious Sherlock on the couch, that he would see the bizarre red-head again very soon.

* * *

 **Author Notes**

 **I want you to know that I love you ALL. Especially you lovely readers who review X3**

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